


Improvement

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor [54]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: Followup to Gravity Sings, running concurrently to it in part. Focusing on the specifics of Deanna Troi becoming a starship captain, despite everything.Part of a long series, which means you may not understand some of the context, or some of the changes in the characters.





	1. Chapter 1

and don't fool yourself   
into thinking things are simple  
nobody's lying still the stories don't line up  
why do you try to hold on   
to what you'll never get a hold on  
you wouldn't try to put the ocean  
in a paper cup  
cuz i have had something to prove  
as long as i know there's something   
that needs improvement  
and you know that every time i move  
i make a woman's movement  
and first you decide   
what you've gotta do  
then you go out and do it  
and maybe the most we can do  
is just to see each other through it

 

Ani DiFranco, hour follows hour

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Deanna watched the officers she had selected for her senior staff file out of the observation room one at a time, leaving her sitting there with Dr. Mengis. He had longer hair now, still black but shot through with white hair. He'd braided it and tied it off with a blue ribbon, simple and matching the blue piping on his uniform.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well enough."

"Forgive me for prying. We don't have a counselor on this ship, and I have been charged with the specific task of monitoring your performance in particular."

Deanna leaned back in the chair and glanced out at the star field showing in the viewport. The edge of Earth's moon showed along the left side of the window. "Greg...."

"I do have concerns. This is a different situation, and I know you well enough to understand how many ways it will be stressful for you."

"It hasn't been as hard as I anticipated. You know as well as I that being busy is the antidote to anxiety, and it's been very busy indeed."

Greg gave her a sharp look. "How are you tolerating the separation from him?"

She leveled a disdainful look at him, but it did little good. "I'm doing well, in that aspect."

"Except the stress of it shows in your face. Like a bad headache, which I assume still occurs when there are parsecs between you. And I can assist -- pharmaceutical interventions are generally effective for such things."

Deanna could tell how it was going to go -- she knew him as well as he knew her, after all. She caved, slumping in the stiff upright chair, and propped her elbow on the edge of the table as she rubbed her right brow. "It's different of course. We were just settling into the house, just getting back to being a family. I didn't anticipate that the admiral would offer me this at all. And now the commandant at the Academy wants me to teach, still, but a virtual course -- they are using holodecks and real time projection to have active duty Starfleet officers provide courses. I'm starting next week on the psychology of Command, an advanced course, for Command School students."

"I see," Gregory said, rising to head around her seat and the head of the table to the replicator. "One hypospray, two cc's of triptacederin."

"Some of the time I spend in the ready room is preparation for it. The curriculum the prior instructor used is complete shit."

Greg stood over her, hesitating in administering the medication, his bushy brows coming together. "Not your normal nomenclature. I am beginning to see that you are still good at masking symptoms."

She rolled her eyes and inclined her head away from him, so he could press the hypospray against her neck. The medication worked as swiftly as always, and the pain pushing against the inside of her forehead eased. "Thank you." 

He returned to the chair he'd been in and perched on the edge of it again, and waited.

"I'm about to finish for the day and go home, where I will be able to relax. If you would like me to return tomorrow for a complete physical we can do so," she said. 

"Tell me about your mood," he said, not allowing her to deflect, postpone, or sidestep.

On the one hand, she didn't want to talk about it. On the other, she knew how hypocritical it was to have been a counselor for years and now want to avoid talking about it. "I have been dreading this."

His head came up slightly, and his surprise disrupted the curiosity and concern he'd felt. "You have been dreading this conversation?"

She moaned, putting her hand to her head, stretching out a leg and then the other, crossing them at the ankles. "I have been dreading taking command of this vessel."

Gregory sat with it for a moment before responding. "You didn't want this?"

"We left the  _Enterprise_ when we both felt that we needed something else. That our relationship had evolved, our children were growing and would be better having some of their childhood on an actual planet so they could feel some groundedness, some ties to society outside Starfleet. He was tired of watching me die, I was tired of watching my subordinates die, we were tired of ordering weapons fired and enduring waves of eager cadets. We felt like we were done." She almost asked for another shot. The headache was coming back. "And now there is a war with another Alpha Quadrant species, and the Sisnok are expanding their horizons. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Say no, and let the younger officers have a crack at it?"

"The younger, not-telepathic officers who have been falling into comas and dying when they encounter the Sisnok." She sat up, stood up, started to pace. "When the admiral in charge is so proud of me, he might not stop smiling for a decade."

"I think he would rather you were happy," Greg said, sliding further back in the chair and crossing his legs.

"But I can't say that it doesn't appeal to me. It does." She turned back from the viewport and came to a stop in front of him. "I was thinking about quitting it all. No teaching, no ship duty, nothing. Because my children, and -- " Abruptly she turned her back on him.

After a long pause, he said, softly, "Deanna."

"It started to hit me when he got home," she said at last. "I've been feeling so tired and overwhelmed. I look old."

"No, you look older," Greg exclaimed.

She turned to find that he'd risen to his feet. "And if I'm older he's -- I don't have -- there isn't enough time," she choked out. "There is never enough time. But there is less time now, and -- "

Unfortunately, he seemed to understand what she was saying. "He wouldn't want you to feel this way. There's no sense in -- "

"Why do you think it has to make sense for me to feel this way? And you are about to suggest that I should just stay with him, quit now, if I feel I have so little time left with him. But I have to protect my family," she insisted, not bothering to control the tears any more. "There's intelligence I can't talk about that suggests we are better off stopping this now, before -- it can't wait. We have to get this under control now, before -- "

"They have reason to believe Earth is in danger," Greg filled in. "The level of urgency Command is demonstrating already suggested as much to me. Deanna -- "

"I can't stay and talk, Doctor," she said. "I have to go. I'll see you when we are called out again -- very likely quite soon."

It surprised her that she made it across the bridge to the turbolift without being caught with tears on her face. By the time she materialized in her front yard, she had re-oriented her thoughts on home and family, and was greeted at the door by Fidele.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your kids are all empaths, think of how far you would have to go to avoid their knowing you and daddy are arguing... lol.

Deanna walked down the broad, open corridors of McKinley Station, getting looks from people -- there was a civilian presence on the station but in the public terminals, not the restricted areas. She'd worn her red dress without a thought as she intended to neither meet with other officers nor board the _Hermes_ , and her hair was in a loose French braid. Tom would be at the house to field any issues the kids might come up with while they were ostensibly doing homework and spending time with the friends they were allowed to bring home with them. She and Jean-Luc had arranged to be elsewhere for dinner and out for the night, and would return home after breakfast the following morning. It was Jean-Luc's last minute idea. There wasn't another mission scheduled yet and he had nothing scheduled for two days.

There were viewports along the outside of the station from which to see space, and vessels in orbit; she slowed as she reached a vantage from which she could see her own vessel, and came to a stop, arms crossed, gazing out at the lone Expediter class vessel floating untethered near the station. The nose of the ship was pointed at her, the name painted across the top of the saucer section clearly visible thanks to the angle, looking slightly down at it.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a male voice said firmly. She turned to face him coolly and found that a lieutenant had taken it upon himself to address the interloper. "This area is off limits to civilians."

"Then it's a good thing there are no civilians here," she said, turning back to the view.

"I need you to come with me, ma'am."

"What do you know about the Expediter series, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am," he said sternly, not responding to her officious tone.

"Nothing, then," she said, straightening her shoulders slightly. "I can tell you about the _Hermes_ , if you like. Since I have been her captain for two weeks. You may contact Tactical Operations if you have any questions. Tell them Captain Troi sent you."

She turned back to the view, just in time. A maneuvering thruster fired near the nose of the ship -- usually they were not visible but she'd happened to look in the right place at the right time.

"Ma'am," he repeated, still stern.

Sighing, she walked with him all the way to the nearest security station, at a junction of corridors. She stood at the desk and let them perform a retinal scan, and while the lieutenant-commander apologized Jean-Luc arrived. He wasn't in uniform either, wore a black jacket over one of his white shirts and black slacks, looking quite dapper.

"This section is off limits to civilians," she told him with a fond smile. "Sir."

"It's a good thing there are none present, then," he replied, glancing at the two young officers at the desk. The lieutenant who had approached her rolled his eyes.

"Good afternoon, Admiral. Please step up for a retinal scan."

Jean-Luc stared at the man, and leaned in over the desk -- the lieutenant held up the scanner.

"Have a nice day, sir," he said.

Deanna followed him away from the station, taking his arm. "So what secret hideaway are you taking me to?"

"You'll see."

"I'm sorry I was not at our rendezvous point -- I was being detained due to being unrecognizable."

"He was doing his duty, as boring as it seems," Jean-Luc said. "I'll forgive you. Your ship is still there?"

"Did you arrange otherwise? Yes, it's still there."

He led her to the nearest transporter and gave the attendant a nod. From the smile on the woman's face she had already been given coordinates and approved of them. They materialized a few moments later on a deck-- tables, people seated eating dinner, and the presence of a waiter suggested restaurant. The presence of the ocean over the railing suggested they were somewhere on the coast, and the sun was in about the same place it had been when she'd beamed up to McKinley Station -- the same coast they lived on currently, then.

"Welcome to the Cliff House," the waiter exclaimed as he strode up to them. "This way."

Deanna took Jean-Luc's hand and let him escort her from the small transporter pad on the corner of the deck to a table for two. The waiter went off to put in their drink order. She watched a pelican swoop by and land in the water. "That was a lot of trouble to surprise me by taking me to a restaurant in the same time zone," she commented.

"But you were surprised, were you not?" he replied with a cheesy grin.

"It's a beautiful day, but the sun is setting." The ocean breeze was a little cold already; she felt the chill raise the hairs on her arms. She hadn't asked and regretted it; wearing a sleeveless dress had been a mistake.

"I have a plan for that."

"You plan to give me your jacket and freeze?" 

"That's one plan. Another would be to move indoors, if it comes to it. Or have the waiter bring the coats that I dropped off for us earlier today."

She laughed, watching him through lazy, happy eyes. "You might be a Starfleet officer if you have contingency plans for dinner."

They laughed together, quietly. Their table was apart from the other occupied tables, probably also by design, and she wouldn't put it past him to ask for just such accommodations. The times he had taken her out to some restaurant through the years, they'd been accosted by people for varying reasons, sometimes just by people who wanted to meet Captain Picard.

Their drinks came, and they fell quiet, happily enjoying each other's company, exchanging glances and occasionally thoughts, mostly relaxing and enjoying the food, rather than chat or debrief or discuss anything. The sunset was splendid, as there had been some clouds in the late afternoon. The waiter brought dinner and lit the candles, and they had a relaxed meal while listening to the ocean lapping against the rocks below and the soft music emanating from the restaurant. She did ask for her coat just before the sun set, and he put his on shortly after. 

"Dessert?"

Deanna smiled at the suggestion but shook her head.

"What? No chocolate?"

"You don't have some at our room, wherever it is?"

He shook his head incredulously. "Am I predictable now?"

"In some respects. Surprises are wonderful but it's also nice sometimes to have the same thing again. Especially if it's chocolate, with you."

He went quiet, and in the dim light of the candles and of the half moon high overhead, she couldn't make out his expression. But she knew, because the bond was alive and well, that he was thinking about that and feeling solemn and a little curious. If she focused more they would be sharing thoughts, effortlessly.

"Are you still missing the _Enterprise_?" he asked.

She exhaled slowly. "I miss some things. But there are many things to enjoy about being here."

"I am enjoying that I can be home with the kids more than I was," he said. "Having conversations with them. Did you know that Yves doesn't like chocolate?"

Deanna blinked, gave her head a little shake. "He did when he was younger."

"Apparently our little boy has changed. He's definitely coming into his own since we've been here." Jean-Luc paused, considering. "He told me that you scared him, by being unlike yourself before I got here -- I think you haven't shared everything with me."

Deanna did not want to revisit that and he could tell at once. She didn't even have to glare at him. She looked down at her empty plate. "So where are you taking me tonight?"

He stood up and held out a hand. She took it as she came to her feet and stepped up to him to kiss him. She pressed her lips against his intending it to be brief, but he leaned in, and for a moment they weren't on the deck outside a restaurant. When they came back to themselves, they parted, and were startled by clapping. There were several people at tables applauding.

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with her that suggested they were out of their minds. "We should go."

"I can't wait to see what you have planned," she said, taking his hand and smiling blandly at their audience.

They walked toward the restaurant and as they passed one of the occupied tables the woman seated there with a man said to them, "Congratulations, to both of you."

"Thank you," Deanna said before Jean-Luc could correct the assumption.

"I hope you're very happy together," the woman went on.

"Yes, we have been for fifteen years, I am sure that will continue," Jean-Luc put in, annoyed by the intrusion. He guided Deanna along toward the door without looking back. Deanna sighed, and went along.

"She probably thinks we are honeymooners. In a way that's true."

She followed him down the dimly-lit street to the public transporter on the corner. Her breath was starting to fog in front of her face, so she was glad to step up on the pad -- he joined her after putting in the coordinates. And then they materialized on a deck attached to a small cabin, in a densely-wooded place from the smell of damp peat and leaves, the humidity and the dark silhouettes of trees all around. The half moon shone through the branches. There were a few lights placed low along the wall of the cabin, illuminating boards. They gleamed as if wet. She shivered despite the coat -- it was colder here.

"Come inside." He took the lead, sliding open the door.

"Cozy," she commented, looking around as she followed him into the single room. Replicator in the corner, a table and two chairs in the bay window, a comfortable-looking bed with a patchwork green and gold block quilt on it that matched the general color scheme, and a door in the back left corner to the bathroom. Everything was in natural earth tones, fall colors. The skylight showed a patch of moonlit sky framed by silhouetted foliage. When she turned from her study of the interior, she found him at the panel on the wall near the replicator, turning up the thermostat.

"It's already a bit warm in here," she said, tilting her head and watching him take off the coat. He came to relieve her of hers, and hung them both on hooks by the door.

"What do we want to talk about first?" He took off the suit jacket next, dropped it on the back of a chair, and addressed the replicator. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot."

Deanna smiled fondly. So very predictable indeed. How many thousands of cups of tea had she had with him by now. "We should talk about Yves. He's been doing such a good job working for Tom."

"Indeed he has. And without a wobble in his grades, I might add. Do you want anything?"

"Tea, thank you."

They sat down at the table, each with a steaming cup, and she sipped hot chamomile. Jean-Luc put his cup on the table. "He asked me for help with the application to Starfleet."

"Oh," she blurted. He gazed at her, concern written all over his face. She tried to smile. "I don't know how to feel about that. He's fifteen. I suppose I wanted him to be a child longer than this."

"We found out that he needs to submit early, to be considered for early enrollment so he can start taking a couple of classes at the Academy remotely next year, concurrently with regular classes. He feels he can manage it if he stops working with Tom. Don't worry, I don't think we'll move him into the dorms any time soon."

She exhaled slowly, trying to keep it inaudible. "But it's a milestone just the same. I was just this morning remembering when he was two and we couldn't get him to let go of that rock sample -- remember?"

He did, and smiled with her. "I was so worried about that. What an anxious parent I turned out to be."

"Yes, but when Amy developed an obsession with a fork you were quite relaxed about it."

"At least the twins had normal obsessions, with their toys. So much more rational little toddlers than their older siblings," he said, making his attempt at humor.

It was too close -- too much. She couldn't keep herself composed. The tears spilled. While she blinked, a handkerchief appeared, hovering in her blurred field of vision. She guffawed and took it, and started to wipe her eyes.

"You miss your little children," he said, his voice as gentle as only she and their children ever heard it.

She nodded, unable to speak for the lump in her throat. Hating the sniffle, she kept mopping.

"I didn't anticipate that this transition would be hardest on you," he murmured. "The ship, the children, and that officer you married, all left behind. Then the damage -- I know that the last mission left its mark on you. Dealing with Pembroke only set back your healing."

Deanna closed her eyes and started to shake her head.

"Nor did I expect you to be so sensitive to your appearance -- but then it occurred to me that you aren't really looking so old, that it's upsetting -- you are showing some signs of aging, true. But hints of your age remind you of mine. Don't they? And we aren't so overwhelmed by duty that you're able to ignore them. There was a time when you felt sad thinking about the distant future, but you're seeing these changes more clearly now that you have the time to notice, and it's feeling too close."

She knew he was that observant, and likely he had added up the little clues to this conclusion. "Sometimes I hate Dixon Hill," she blurted, her voice throbbing.

"Finish your tea, and tell me how I can help you."

They sat quietly for the time it took her to finish sipping tea, because she knew what he was doing. She'd done it with him before. The deliberate engagement in less important and more relaxing activity did wonders. Having him to draw her attention kept her from thinking about the current list of worries.

"Where are we?" she asked at length, looking around again. The moon had risen a bit more, brightening the skylight. 

"This cabin is somewhere on the Oregon coast," he said. "Tom helped me find it. It's quite remote, accessible by transporter or by air, and in the morning you'll see we're on a bluff overlooking the Pacific with forest on the other three sides of the building. I have a lease on it so you can return here any time you like, to give you a place to feel and think whatever you need, at a sufficient distance that it won't overwhelm the children or be interrupted by anyone dropping in."

Deanna smiled happily at him, kicked off her heels, and looked around again. "Are you going to come here with me?"

"As often as you'll have me," he said, standing to take the cup back to recycle it. It was accomplished in two steps, and he brought back a dish of chocolates. 

"Sweet fish," she said, as he placed it on the table between them. "You take such good care of me. I love our little cabin in the woods. I don't know why I didn't think about something like this."

"I do," he said, sitting and plucking up a truffle from the dish. Leaning, he fed it to her and watched her enjoy the mouthful of intense dark chocolate. "You are a long way from being a counselor. And I am a long way from being Captain Picard, the loner without a thought of being anyone's caretaker."

"We do very well taking care of each other," she said, reaching for another chocolate. "I'm worried about Cordelia."

He felt the same, and looked down, thinking about their younger children. "She's certainly trending toward being too caught up in taking care of others."

"I'm trying to help her focus more on her own needs."

"I think you should show her how it's done," he said, lifting a foot to remove a shoe. 

"Jean," she chided.

"We both should," he went on. "So I am going to make a point of it."

She closed her eyes and thought about all the times she'd had to badger him to take a day of leave. When she opened her eyes again, he too was smiling.

"I know," he said. "I was not a good example. But you tamed me, at last. Even while I encouraged you to go the other direction, to become the iron-hard officer who pulled off miracles. And as you said shortly after I came down to Earth, we need to find our balance. So I want to take a step back, because that appears to be necessary, and be less focused on Starfleet since that is my impediment to finding my balance."

She sat up at that, tilting her head, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that I am rethinking my continued involvement in Starfleet."

Deanna stared at him, completely bereft. It had been difficult to see him as an admiral. She knew well that he had not been a civilian since he was sixteen, trying to pass the entrance exam.

"I know, it's hard to -- " He waved his hand at the side of his head. "I spend my days divided between thinking about you and the children, and all that I'm missing, and work. And officers are being wounded and killed already in this war. We left ship duty to move away from such violence and I can't stop thinking about...."

"I suppose it's a natural progression," she said softly. "And I think it's better than being unable to leave Starfleet. You would have had to retire at some point. But they need you."

"I might be able to work part time, or as an adviser. But I'm not there yet. I'm going to try to work something out with Bettencourt."

"All right."

"And in the meantime I also want to understand what's going on with you, because you are not happy about your new vessel, despite your telling me the truth that you are -- you believe you are, but you're not feeling it with any real conviction." He gazed at her with a calm that he wasn't feeling. This was the thing that worried him the most. She suspected it might have been the last straw, that had spurred him to bring her here.

Deanna realized then that she had instinctively blocked him, and took a moment to stop doing that. He started to remove his shirt, unfastening the collar, then sat watching her when he felt the change -- he could tell she was upset, now, and it caused an increase of worry. 

"I am happy with the ship. But I'm not happy with the way things are, and at a loss for what to do other than keep up with being a parent and being an officer until we're through this awkward adjustment phase."

"So what can I do to help you with the adjustment?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure there is anything you can do, that you aren't already doing. This is wonderful - I have to focus to really sense anything from the kids and there are no people for miles, so it's very peaceful, in that respect."

He was somewhat reassured by this, though his expression didn't change. He pulled the shirt off as he stood and dropped it over the back of the chair. "Would you like to join me in the spa?"

"There's a spa?" She followed him to the bathroom door and found not a tiny closet but a room the size of the living area, with a two person spa, a sonic shower, a sink and a window. The lights came up as they entered. The room was warm, so she pulled off her dress, dropped it on the floor, dropped her underwear on it, and went to the tub. As she was straightening after turning on the water to fill it, Jean-Luc came to her side, wearing nothing. He touched her back, running his fingers along her back.

Along the path of the wound she'd sustained on Devaris, she realized. And then he touched his fingertips to that place on her back where she'd been injured years ago, on a different away mission. She turned and put her arms around him, unable to bear it if he kept tracing old injuries. There were far too many. They stood there while the water filled the spa, and turned off automatically, leaving them in silence. She didn't want to know what he was thinking; she could sense emotions that told her he was wandering in melancholy memories.

"I love you," she said at length.

He turned, putting his arm around her to guide her over the rim and down two steps into the tub. Once they were seated facing each other, he tapped the controls, dimming the lights and turning on the jets, which hummed quietly. Moonlight streamed through the window on their right.

They sat in silence, eyes closed, and finally she put forth the thought that his intention had been realized, and this was very helpful indeed. He agreed wordlessly and she sensed that his own tension eased.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have moved umpty jillion times (one year I moved nine times - never unpacked more than the clothes) and as a result, I don't care about flying cars -- give me transporters!

When the computer announced someone at the door, Deanna straightened from packing a crate in the master bedroom and went to the front of the house to greet Will Riker at the door.

"Here to help you finish packing," he announced cheerily, giving her a bear hug. "I have a reprieve from work today. Soriah has an event to attend at the Vulcan Embassy and I finished up the day's chores so went home to change and see if you needed more help."

Deanna smiled at him. Most of the work had been done already; Jean-Luc and the children were at the house in France already, unpacking the second wave of boxes. "I'm finishing up in the master bedroom. Come on back."

"How are you today?" Will ambled along behind her through the kitchen and down the hall. He had become her direct supervisor, taking Jean-Luc's position over at Bettencourt's request, and while Tom Glendenning had chafed at being under Will's supervision everything was going well enough. Will enjoyed his work more than the position in Operations he'd had for the first months of his tenure at Command.

"Weary -- I sincerely hope this is my last move. I keep finding things to pack. The children obviously accumulated a lot more since we've moved in than I anticipated."

He was able to reach some things on the top shelf in the closet for her, and she found a drawer in the master bath that had escaped notice. He latched the lid on the crate and she triggered the transponder -- the crate dematerialized as they stood back, and then she led him out and around the house to the kids' rooms to double check.

"Looks like the moving kit paid off," he said, referring to the transponders with preset coordinates could be purchased that would take advantage of the public transporter network, allowing for belongings to be moved from house to house across the globe.

"It's been wonderful -- being able to send everything ahead was a time-saver. Bell tells me you are thinking of buying a place in Marin?"

Will picked up a stuffed toy that had been abandoned in a corner of a bedroom. "We found a beautiful home overlooking the bay. It has some extra rooms for guests and plenty of room for the boys."

"You'll have to give us a tour."

"You're leaving all the furniture?" There were a few things missing -- the kid's rooms had all the beds in place but the living room furniture was gone. They had left the furniture in the master suite and all the patio furniture.

"The families coming in will need it. And the house in France already has a full complement of furniture. We remodeled one of the downstairs rooms to give the kids a place to play their games and do their school work, took the living room furnishings for that purpose, but we'll replace it with another set in a few days before our first tenants move in." She turned from taking a picture down from the wall, stepped out into the hall to place it in a crate, and came back to open and close drawers to be certain there was nothing left.

"I didn't expect Jean-Luc to donate the house to Family Services," Will said, watching her. 

"He didn't exactly. We're housing them and finding people who will come in to help the new guardians with their parenting skills. Counselor Davidson will be providing some in-house therapy." Bell had already agreed to provide parenting classes, for those with very young orphans suddenly in their care after the death of the parents, to help them see to the physical needs of their children. 

"It's always been something he delegated, I mean," Will said, thinking about children who'd been orphaned aboard the _Enterprise_ in the distant past.

Deanna pushed the transponder and watched the crate in the hall disappear. She turned to him, and it seemed to him that she wasn't happy. It had been a frequent observation, and others had noticed -- Tom had commented on it. "Things change," she said, smiling -- a less warm, less happy smile than usual.

"I'm not going to ask for the hundredth time what's wrong, but simply observe that you continue to look stressed and offer my assistance if you need it."

She looked down, her smile shifting to a regretful, affectionate, genuine one. "Thank you, Will. I wish it were something you could help."

"Try me."

They went to the front of the house and stood in the empty living room. She sighed, crossing her arms. Glanced around -- shrugged. "I think we've gotten everything. Want to take a walk?"

"Sure."

They left the house and strolled down the sidewalk. The house next door where the L'norim had lived was already empty; deLio and his family had also made theirs available to family members of orphans who wanted to participate in the Picard's little program. Jean-Luc was allowing them to build a L'norim home on the Picard property in France, since they were so insistent upon remaining in close proximity to the Picard family. That, too, was a change. Will thought about Captain Picard from their first ten-year mission and the change of focus that had taken place that led to this situation.

"I don't think I will miss San Francisco," Deanna said, interrupting his musings. She was looking up at the cloudy sky.

"And if you do, you can always come back and stay with us," he said, putting an arm across her shoulders.

"It's been interesting to be under your command again," she said. "Especially since you've changed almost as much as Jean-Luc."

"Have you been thinking about the past too, then? I was just remembering the other day -- Marcus wanted to hear stories about when I was first officer of the _Enterprise_ after Data mentioned one of our missions."

"I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. Jean-Luc refers to past events at times in passing but does not tend to dwell on it any more. He's been very excited about helping the children and he's made plans for expanding the winery." She kept her eyes forward, and he thought the slight smile hinted at sadness again.

"I miss Captain Picard too," Will said softly as they reached the corner and he followed her lead turning right. They appeared to be heading for the café.

Deanna put her hands in the pockets of the huge red sweatshirt she wore. Now that he thought about it, the shirt was probably her husband's, as it didn't fit her at all. The breeze started to blow in their faces now that they were headed west. "He doesn't understand. He feels so accomplished, being a family man and having children, enjoying his time with them. And Counselor Troi is so proud of that -- all the times he felt so lonely are long past. I know that it's best for him, that he is able to retire and have a productive life this way, enjoy his time with family and friends as he so richly deserves. He knows I've been struggling with the transition and so he rented a cabin on the north Pacific coast, to give me a place to work through the feelings that I don't want to indulge when the children are around and paying attention -- it's become our hideaway as well."

"He mentioned that -- he asked me if we wouldn't mind looking out for the kids tomorrow, which is why Bell and the kids are already at the house in France," Will said.

She nodded, looking at the ground between the toes of her boots. "I know. Because this has been his way -- when I was severely injured, when I was first officer, he stepped up and took care of me as well as the kids. And each time I've needed help since then he does whatever he needs to do to be there. Now he doesn't even think twice about anything he does for me. And once he moved into the house with us, it really hit me hard -- I will never have Captain Picard in my life again. That man, that officer, has slowly disappeared. And I loved him, in an entirely different way, as did so many of us who were aboard the 1701-D."

"You know, I understand what you're saying," Will said, patting her shoulder and withdrawing his arm as they approached the patio outside the cafe. "But he's obviously not suffering for it."

"No. My prolonged fit of nostalgia on his behalf persists, though it's gotten better since I was able to discuss it with him. I think it will resolve after a few more visits to our cabin." Her smile had gone sly, and obviously, she was not thinking much of the past at the moment.

"It's nice to know he still makes you happy," Will said as they seated themselves at one of the smaller tables. The cafe was busy at the moment and the inside tables all looked to be occupied. 

"Part of the sadness has been thinking about how difficult it was for both of us, for a long time," she said, glancing at the door -- Annika was coming out to meet them. "Good morning, how is it going?"

"It's been a very busy morning here," Annika said. "Can I get you anything?"

"The usual, thank you. I like that color on you, Annika." Deanna smiled with easy affection at the young woman. 

"Coffee, black, lightly sweetened," Will said, not commenting on the light blue dress at all. It did flatter her, but he knew attention from men was a source of anxiety for her, even from old married men. "Thanks, Annika."

"We're out of the house, by the way," Deanna said. "So you can move in any time you wish."

"Thank you. I will be back with your coffee," Annika said, turning to stride off to fetch the order.

"She's moving in?"

"I asked her to be an in-house property manager," Deanna said. She used both hands to pull her hair back and re-fasten the clip "I'm hoping that she'll take the initiative to be more like her mentor. Being around small children will be challenging for her at first."

"I'm told by reliable sources that her mentor is quite good at helping people and holding babies whether he likes it or not, these days." Will leaned back and grinned at her. "She may prove just as insufficiently reluctant."

Deanna laughed with him and propped her elbows on the edge of the table. This time, she not only looked sad but tired. The last mission had been three days of evacuating a starbase, while Breen and several Starfleet battle cruisers postured and battled -- the  _Venture_ had been one of the ships involved, commanded by Tom's old second officer, who had spent a little time as a first officer before having the vessel handed off to him. Too many officers were on that fast track to four pips; it said that there were a lot of people dying, or retiring. Recruitment had fluctuated a lot over the past years and at the moment, though it wasn't common knowledge, it was plunging again. Will knew that Starfleet wouldn't force anyone to do anything to this day, however, it was becoming more and more a matter of urgency to do all they could to retain officers. 

"You should be resting," he said gently.

She glanced sharply at him. 

"It's not as though you don't earn it. Part of the appeal of the Expediter program is that we can let our officers have time off at home in between missions. Counselor Troi always said crew need more balance in their lives. So I'll redundantly remind you of it, since you're falling back into old behavior."

Annika brought coffee and put a cup in front of each of them. "Would you care for anything else?"

"No, thank you. Will we be seeing you for dinner tomorrow?" Deanna asked. Despite the time difference, she made a point to keep an open invitation for Annika to attend Sunday dinner at the Picard home. 

"I have a prior obligation," Annika said. "But thank you. I will come next week." She glanced around the patio and nodded as she moved off to do her job. 

"One of your success stories," Will said, picking up his coffee. "I have to say I thought she wouldn't improve. I should've known better."

"It's a relief that she's stable and making herself more independent." She sipped her coffee and nodded approvingly. "Are you enjoying the new job?"

"More I feel useful in the new job than enjoying it, honestly. It's apparent that we're going to be years in recovering from wars. I think we need ten more of you," he said quietly, too aware of the other patrons, though none were sitting close enough to hear.

That led to her bowing her head over her steaming cup and more obviously struggling to avoid tears. "I almost quit Starfleet. I wanted so much to stay at home and be with Jean-Luc. But I am so afraid that the peace will be short and there are no safe havens if -- " 

When she couldn't go on, he nodded. "I know."

"He doesn't ask what's going on," she said, on the verge of tears again. "I've never seen him resort to denial this way."

"I've never heard you sound so defeated," Will said.

"It's different when the mission is so much more than any single vessel can handle. I'm so tired of fighting, Will."

He grimaced at the plaintive tone, and felt the weight of knowing exactly what she meant, and more. He knew what was going to happen in the near future -- as did Jean-Luc, no doubt, and it certainly wasn't a mystery as to why Jean-Luc didn't want to talk about it. "Well. Next briefing we'll be discussing the next phase. I've recommended that we implement an attempt at finally bringing the Romulans into the Federation as members, and initiating diplomatic contacts with some of their allies in the Beta Quadrant."

"Oh," she gasped. She sat up straight, her eyebrows climbing a little. "Do we anticipate the Romulans will respond favorably?"

"I've been talking to Soriah about who we might send. I need to talk to Jean-Luc. I want to send you with him. He could pull it off, if anyone could. Do you think he'd come back for one last hurrah?"

She considered it, and her eyes went distant, in the way they sometimes did. How quickly he forgot that they were essentially thinking with the same brain these days. "It depends," she replied with a smile. Which suggested that he would, if there were sufficient intelligence and enough of a chance of success. 

"Did you just ask him?"

Her smile broadened. "I thought about it."

"You thought about it with him?"

She shrugged a little and her dimple appeared along with the smile. Picking up her coffee, she gazed at him over the rim of the cup as she sipped. 

"Deanna," he began, then stopped short of asking obvious questions. "I bet when you joined Starfleet, you never anticipated being a starship captain."

It surprised her -- she inclined her head slightly. "No. Not at all."

"I bet you never thought you would fall in love with Captain Picard, either."

Deanna pursed her lips and studied him, not smiling any longer. "No, I didn't."

"You couldn't have predicted having his children, or that you'd be here, now, looking back at the Jean-Luc Picard you knew then through the eyes of Captain Troi, and missing the old curmudgeon that he was. I'd also bet you good money you never predicted you would be first officer, or able to fight off Asili single-handedly. Or telepathic, able to talk to your husband on the other side of the planet."

She snorted ungracefully. "Thank you for not rubbing it in too hard, that I've changed as much as he has."

"You're welcome, oh sarcastic one," he said, grinning, smug as hell and not caring that it showed. "You know... I wonder if he misses Counselor Troi at all? Because I think about her sometimes, and I kind of do. She was really a lot of fun at parties."

Deanna rolled her eyes at him. "Will."

"Actually, now that I think about it... maybe I was thinking about Dr. Crusher? It's been so long, I'm having trouble remembering the parties."

Now she was peering through her lashes at him and giving him the look that suggested he was being tolerated, for now, but needed to rein it in. 

"Maybe we need to have a party," he said, gesturing with his hand. "We'll all put on the old uniforms and channel our old selves."

"You really know how to make a point. Unfortunately you go on to file it sharper and twist the knife a little too long."

"I know, I know," he put down the coffee and held up his hands in surrender. "I admit that I need more training in counseling."

She had her twisted smile that he remembered well, from chats in Ten Forward when they had opportunities to use humor to reduce stress. "But I'm remembering thanks to you a time when Counselor Troi would try to recommend ways of dealing with such things, and I think I've come to a conclusion about her that I didn't expect."

"Oh?"

"I've decided that I would rather be Captain Troi. Counselor Troi was in over her head and didn't know it."

"And now you have it all -- experience, wisdom, and skill," he said with a wry grin.

"Not at all." She raised her head slightly, laughter dancing in her eyes. "I'm in over my head, I know it, and we'll keep doing it anyway."

Will laughed out loud with her, and a few heads turned. "There we go. That's the spirit."

"Seriously, though," she said, picking up her coffee again. "Thank you. I appreciate the perspective. It likely will not completely fix the problem but it helps."

"All in a day's work," Will said, gesturing as if taking off a hat. "Shall we go?"

They waved to Annika and headed down to the public transporter on the corner, and when they materialized in front of the house in LaBarre it was dusk. Deanna shoved her hands back in her pockets and jogged for the front door. But it banged open before she put a foot on a step and Jean-Luc caught her up in his arms as if he hadn't seen her in weeks. 

Will waited, as they were blocking the steps, and cleared his throat when the kiss went on longer than a few seconds. 

"What," Jean-Luc said flatly, putting an arm around Deanna and turning to take her in the house.

"Did we miss anything?" Will said, following them in out of the cold. "It looks like it's after dinner here."

"I'm going upstairs to talk to the twins," Deanna said, moving toward the stairwell further down the hall. Jean-Luc didn't follow her; he gestured for Will to come along and went into the dining room, where a wine bottle and a few glasses were waiting on the end of the table.

"Deanna has been struggling with the changes in our lives," he said, pouring some of the Cabernet for them.

"She misses Captain Picard," Will said.

Jean-Luc winced. "Yes. Well, I do not."

"I miss him too, sometimes," Will went on, accepting his glass of wine. It was a bit odd to go from coffee to wine, but he knew it was good wine at least.

Jean-Luc gave him the classic Picard scowl -- bemused, slightly disapproving, and begrudgingly curious.

"He had a lot in common with you. He always took care of his people no matter what happened. He might not have been entirely comfortable with kids, but he did make an impression on them, and he definitely managed to be a very good friend, to the people he chose to befriend."

Jean-Luc kept frowning. "So I'm trying to decide something," he began, moving to the other side of the table and putting a hand on the back of a chair. "Are you making fun of me, or of her?"

"Neither?"

"Both," Deanna said, coming in from the hall. She passed behind Will and headed around the end of the table for the kitchen.

"Hey," Will exclaimed angrily. "Why do I not get to decide what I'm trying to say?"

"Are you trying to say something?" Jean-Luc sat down and took a sip of wine.

Will rubbed his beard with his thumb and fingertip, thoughtfully, trying to decide if he was being played. "I love you both like family," he said at last. It was the only way out that he could see.

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes up to look at the ceiling, raising his arms, the wine glass dangling from his right hand. "Oh, hell, it's all over now."

"It's possible that I may be at fault," Deanna said, returning with a cup of tea and a plate of appetizers. She sat at the head of the table between them. "I could blame Counselor Troi, since she doesn't exist any longer, I suppose. Counselor Riker took her place."

Will started to chuckle. They both smiled at him, and Jean-Luc sipped his wine.

"All right," Will said at last. "Deanna, is there anything I can do to help you? I'm serious here."

"I enjoy our chats, Will. But I'm not really going to accelerate the part where I work through this on my own time."

"But if there's anything you need you'll let me know. Perhaps something at that hideaway needs repair?"

Jean-Luc frowned at Deanna. "You're telling everyone about it? How do you expect to hide there if everyone knows?"

"I don't tell them where it is," she said. 

The echoing noise of feet on the stairs preceded Yves and John into the room -- with them came Malcolm Reed, Yves' friend from his old school in San Francisco. "Hey, Mrs. P," Malcolm gleefully sang out, "how are you?"

"I'm fine, Malcolm. How is your mother doing?" Deanna seemed fond of the boy, but the nickname 

"She said to say hi and thank you for inviting us tomorrow but she can't come -- she has to work. So," he said, sidling up to Deanna's chair, "when can I get a tour of your ship?"

Yves snorted -- he and John headed into the kitchen. Deanna smiled up at the boy. "I don't think that will happen. But nice try. Are you going horseback riding with us in the morning?"

"I can try, I've never been on a horse," Malcolm said. 

John came back out with a bowl and a cup. "Are there enough horses for all of us?"

"There should be. We asked for the same ones as before."

"Great," John said, with some enthusiasm. "Dad, do you think Mom would let us have horses?"

"Maybe we should wait til we have a new house to think about that," Will said, thinking that Bell would have some strong words to say about that. She had been more traumatized by John's fall off a horse than John, apparently. She expressed anxiety whenever John went riding with their friends.

"Okay," John said, shrugging a little.

Yves came back with his own cup and bowl as they spoke. "You can always come with us -- Maman wants to get our own horses."

"If you get your own horses does that mean you're also getting one for me, or are we supposed to take turns?" John turned to follow Yves. Malcolm jogged in, requested something from the replicator, and hurried out and up the stairs after the other boys.

"We should also wait and see if John ever comes home again," Will commented, amused by the exchange. "It looks like he fits in here almost too well."

Jean-Luc gazed across the table at him with a satisfied smile. Behind him, the frame that had formerly hung in their dining room in San Francisco flicked to a picture of everyone at the Picard wedding -- they must have reorganized and added more images, Will didn't remember seeing the group shot in the frame before, in all his visits to their other house. The facial expressions ranged from reserved to joyful; the photographer had caught the happy couple looking at each other, and Will thought they were happier now. The wedding had been stressful so in the image, they were happy but tired. 

Deanna followed his gaze and sighed audibly. "That dress."

"Do you still have it?" Will asked, remembering the story.

"I have a duplicate of it. Someone tore the original," she said, eating one of the stuffed mushrooms and sipping wine.

"Someone?" Will laughed. The wine was giving him a warm buzz. 

Deanna turned to her husband, smiling -- no, glowing at him. 

"Someone," Jean-Luc said. 

Somewhere else in the house, Cordelia screeched. Running footsteps followed, then a door slamming -- all the doors in the house were the hinged kind, rather than the sliding automatic doors they'd had in San Francisco. 

"Have we set a limit on how high the generator should go?" Jean-Luc asked. It took a moment for Will to remember that they used a small generator that produced harmless levels of a particular kind of radiation, to limit what the younger empaths in the house sensed from their parents. 

Deanna rose and left the room. 

"I guess some things will never change," Will said, pushing his glass forward for a refill. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna entered holodeck four, halted in the middle of the room, and took a moment to close her eyes and put aside everything else -- the current mission would go on without her for an hour and a half. When she was ready, she said, "Computer, load program Troi 10."

The comfortable chair appeared in the center of the room. She stepped up to it, took a step to the left, sat down -- and the rest of the program loaded, and she was sitting in a classroom, with ten students seated before her in a half-circle. Communications through subspace were much improved so it was a live class, conducted remotely.

"Good morning," she said with a smile for her students.

"Good morning, Captain," the young man on the far right of the row said. The others smiled and waited. This was the third meeting, and everyone knew to let her run the class. Command school students tended to be better behaved, professional.

"We have a guest today, as scheduled -- fortunately we have no red alerts. He should be here any moment. Are there any questions on the current assignment?"

"No, sir," was the chorus of responses. Assignments were given and turned in via messages back and forth.

On her right a chair plus its occupant shimmered into existence as if he'd beamed in. She turned her head as he turned his, and they exchanged a fond smile -- Jean-Luc was sitting in an office at Starfleet Academy, but she barely sensed him at all. The _Hermes_ was across the quadrant on the way to pick up the remnants of the crew of the _Aventuras_ , which had been severely damaged in a skirmish with the Breen; the officers were to be reassigned _en masse_ to the _Libra_ before the end of the week, so she was tasked with retrieving then delivering them to Starbase Deep Space Nine. She ignored the pain of the separation now -- practice kept it in the background, a dull ache that interfered with her sleep but did not keep her from going through the days on duty.

"Good morning, Admiral," she said cheerily, noting that he had put on the uniform for the occasion though he had not been required to do so -- being in the Diplomatic Corps was not an assignment that required the flag officer designation, and he was not obligated. "Welcome to our class."

Jean-Luc glanced around at the students, who had all leaped to their feet to salute him. "At ease, be seated," he said, turning back to Deanna again. "Good morning, Captain."

Suddenly Cordelia materialized in front of him -- leaning on her father, she held up a hair clip. "Hi Maman," she cried, as her father took the clip. He recoiled her long braid and fastened it on the back of her head.

"Cordelia, you know better," Deanna said.

She waved her fingers and leaped, and disappeared. Jean-Luc tugged his uniform straight and folded his hands in his lap. "Apologies for the interruption. Our field trip to the art museum starts at the end of this."

"The admiral is here for questions specific to command," Deanna reminded them. "Mr. Balderama, you may ask the first question." Everyone knew the routine. Each would ask a question in turn, and she would facilitate the discussion and keep it on track.

The young man on the right grinned -- he had some fame at the Academy, and was variably called Brash Balderama, Brass Balls Derama, and several derivatives of it depending upon the circumstance and present company. His actual name was Arturo. Cadet Balderama was a fan of starship captains who followed in the footsteps of Captain Kirk. "Sir. I would like to know -- what was the hardest choice you have ever made as a starship captain?"

That was Balderama's usual first question for the guest series; so far he had asked it of Captain Shelby and Admiral Ross. Deanna turned to watch Jean-Luc work through the moment of thought it took him to decide how to word the response. She thought she knew what he would say. He did not disappoint.

"How to answer that question, when it requires one to rank all of the impossible things that happen to starship captains," he said with the good humor he showed when relaxed and among friends. He was obviously happy to see her, even though he likely sensed nothing at all of her. After a moment of polite chuckling from the students, he went on. "The most difficult choice -- that is as you can imagine best described categorically, rather than picking a singular event, as if you are in command for several decades you find yourself confronting impossible circumstances repeatedly. The most conflicting and thorny decisions one can make often involve some choice between loyalty to the principles of the Federation, loyalty to Starfleet and orders and regulations, and loyalty to one's fellow officers."

"Can you give us an example of a difficult choice involving loyalty to your fellow officers?" the young lady on Balderama's left asked. 

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna -- here we go again, his expression said. "You will find that relationships with other officers feel important, perhaps at times they will feel most important. One of the purposes of classes such as this is, of course, to stress to you that feelings are not the best guide. An example would be one that often comes about while stationed with a spouse -- the decision of whether to take a promotion, or a position that requires the officer to live far from family. At times the difficult decision involves leaving a vessel where you feel at home with your co-workers; that has delayed progress in one's career a number of times."

The students looked at each other, back and forth, and of course they had been coordinating questions prior to class -- Jean-Luc had derailed the next question. The next student followed up with a more tentatively-asked question. "Have you ever felt that your relationship with Captain Troi when she was your first officer created a conflict of interest?"

He sat calmly for a moment, again likely choosing wording carefully. It had been asked before. "I have felt as though it might have created one, but it has not to date created an unsolvable one."

The skinny auburn-haired young man next in line was grinning -- Neal Carson had proven to be one of the smarter students, but tended toward arrogance. "Do you agree that officers desiring to be in command of a starship should not have intimate relationships with subordinates?"

Jean-Luc gazed impassively at the young man until he stopped grinning. "No, and yes."

That put them all in a state of confusion. Deanna stifled a chuckle and waited for the next question. When Ms. Torrance, the next one in line, shook her head, Deanna turned to Jean-Luc. "The admiral neither agrees nor disagrees, actually. If he were not tired of the question he might explain that he does not believe Starfleet should encourage or discourage relationships, which has always been their policy, and that personal matters are the person's choice. The influence on your Starfleet career is determined by several factors -- your level of maturity, your ability to maintain appropriate professional relationships with friends, your capacity to follow orders and uphold regulations when your friends are involved in the mission, and how aware you are of the lines between the personal and professional."

"Friends," Carson said, questioning. 

"Statistically speaking, you will have friends among your crew as a captain," Jean-Luc said. "You may or may not have a spouse. In fact, it's statistically unlikely."

"Careers have most often been compromised when friends are involved, not intimate partners," Deanna said. 

"But -- " Torrance sat up straighter, recrossing her legs. "How did you avoid court martial?"

"We did not," Jean-Luc said calmly. "We avoided conviction, because the evidence showed that the events of the mission, the outcome, were not influenced by our relationship.  Which happened because the decisions made on duty were carefully considered with regulations in mind."

The class sat still, digesting this, and finally Torrance turned to the Bolian cadet, Grent. He took the hint. "Admiral, would you say that you have any regrets -- anything you might have done differently when you were in command of the  _Enterprise_?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc said.

A couple of them chuckled when nothing more was forthcoming. It left them to decide whether to ask for specifics or move on. Sharon McCormick moved on. "Admiral, what would you say is the most important character trait that results in good success in command?"

"That would depend upon whose expectations you are trying to meet. If your priority is to please admirals, you have difference expectations for yourself. And, it would depend upon which admiral you are attempting to please -- some value obedience more than independence. If your priority is to maintain your own integrity, do the most good, hold true to your principles -- then a willingness to examine yourself and be excruciatingly honest in your motives is necessary."

"Counselors will tell you balance is necessary," Deanna added. She turned to Jean-Luc to find him watching her -- no one would mistake his expression for anything but pride. "Having relationships that matter to you personally helps you be resilient, resistant to burnout."

"You must have been good at it," Jason Dunstan said, then realized it was a break from the format of the class. "Were you? Balanced, I mean. Relationship-wise."

Deanna covered her smile with a hand. Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "Not in the slightest. I had friends. And then I lost friends, and then I decided I didn't need friends. Balance came much later. Which is why she wanted me to talk about this, so you don't repeat those mistakes."

"What mistakes would those be, exactly?" Balderama said.

"Cadet," Deanna chided. She gestured to the next student. "Mr. Zimmerman."

"Sir, I wonder if you could say a few words about the Borg -- is it possible to be recovered from assimilation?"

Jean-Luc laughed at it for a moment, gave his head a shake, and glanced at Deanna. "Mr. Zimmerman," she said with some mild reproach

Jason bumped Zimmerman with his elbow. "Who are you talking to?"

"I mean-- is it possible for someone else to be, after they've been assimilated for a while," he rephrased, blushing.

It sobered Jean-Luc quickly. He was sympathetic, now. This was a frequent question from someone who had lost a relative to the Borg. Natalia Greenman had asked it years ago, and others had since. "It's unlikely but possible. There have been a few. However, the Collective is incredibly large -- millions of souls have been lost to them. The biggest challenge would be finding the person you wish to rescue, and then there is the problem of the rest of the Collective -- you would likely be assimilated yourself in the attempt."

"I understand the question, but it's hardly related to the topic, Mr. Zimmerman," Deanna said gently. She knew his father had been lost at Wolf 359. He'd been a baby at the time.

"Sorry, sir." The dark-haired young man stared at the floor, blushing again, not noticing sympathetic looks from his peers.

"Cadet Fenson."

Their last student was K'zerot, like her second officer. Mr. Tyler was a hybrid who looked almost human but Fenson was not -- she had the strange eyes, and her skin had a greenish tint. Her short dark hair covered her ears, but Deanna knew that the K'zerot ears were flush against the head.

 "I wish to know, do you believe, K'zerot may be compatible with a multiplicity of crew so that I may be a Starfleet captain," she said. The translator was nearly as good at rendering K'zerot as it was with Betazoid; the cadet was learning Standard the hard way, taking courses, and her diction tended to be understandable but strange.

"Yes," Jean-Luc replied firmly.

"Thank you," Fenson said with a hint of a smile. She tried to approximate human facial expressions, Deanna noticed.

"One more question, should any of you wish to ask -- a bonus question," Deanna said, hoping Zimmerman would rally and ask another, only on topic.

The other cadets even looked his way, but he still seemed lost in thought. "I think we should ask the admiral to tell us something that we have no question for," Balderama said. "Something we are too inexperienced to even know about. What have we not asked, that you feel we should know at this stage of our careers?"

"Hm, good question," Jean-Luc said, glancing at Deanna once more. "If I think about what I should have known at your age... I would say all the right things, encourage you to be the best you can be, but in the end? I think you will make your choices to the best of your ability, with the knowledge that you have at the time, and the consequences will be as they will be. I know that you are on the verge of a great adventure, and that you will pursue it with all the enthusiasm that you have. If you do your best, you will have few regrets and many memories to look back on fondly."

"What's the best thing you did, the best choice you ever made?" McCormick asked, glancing at Deanna anxiously -- she was sneaking another question in. Deanna let it happen. She wanted to know, too, though she suspected she knew his answer; her curiosity was in how much he might reveal to these youngsters, not even done with the Academy yet.

Jean-Luc raised his head, eyeing Deanna with a slight smile. "The best thing I ever did -- I chose a counselor who challenged me often to think about myself differently. She saved my life several times over. I found my balance because I listened to her, even though I didn't want counseling. I promoted her, I encouraged her and I watched her become the finest first officer I've had the privilege to work with. And I may have had to answer thousands of questions as to why, as well as accusations of favoritism, but if we act with the conviction and the knowledge that our intentions are right and proper, the outcome is worth the risk. Which leads me to the question that I am usually asked, what posting I might recommend for those applying -- I think the answer is obvious. Captain Troi has trained many fine officers, she has been and still is a fine officer with a firm sense of right and wrong, and I will be trusting her with my life again on an upcoming diplomatic endeavor. So while there are many excellent postings to be had, my unbiased opinion is thus."

"Unbiased, and completely accurate," Deanna said with a smirk. "Because only the finest serve with Captain Picard."

"Yes. I'm always right, too," he said with one of his silly smiles that affirmed how little he expected to be taken seriously.

"Thank you for visiting, Admiral. We appreciate your time. Have fun at the museum," Deanna said.

He nodded, and stood up -- in a flash he and the chair he'd sat in vanished.

"Discussion," Deanna said, scanning the faces of her students.

"The admiral has an obvious bias," Dunstan said. "He worked with you for years. Decades. I don't think that officers should."

"It worked for Admiral Picard," Carson said.

"It appeared to work, but would there be a reason for any of them to really scrutinize what was really happening? If your friends are your co-workers how do you really objectively analyze their actions?" McCormick asked.

"I wonder what Captain Kirk would have to say on the matter," Deanna said mildly. His friendship with Spock was widely known and often referred to in Academy courses.

Balderama snorted, crossing his arms. "We could look that up. It's not as though that has not been discussed with him in reference to the times he risked the ship and everyone on it to retrieve some member of his crew."

"In fact, Starfleet officers are very loyal to their crewmates," Deanna said. "Which would be why the majority of the ethics coursework focuses on duty versus principled behavior, versus loyalty. And we value life, to the point that we would rather give up our own than see others die. A captain will at times order his subordinates to risk their lives to complete a mission, sometimes with the certainty that the subordinate will die in the doing -- I have been ordered into harm's way more than once. If not for regeneration technology I would be quite a sight to behold, and Admiral Picard would have never made admiral. If he ordered me to, I would do it again."

"But he stepped down and went into diplomacy so he wouldn't have to," Torrance said. The girl smiled; she had an easy gregarious nature that often led people to underestimate her. Deanna liked her.

"He did step away from being a flag officer. But it was not for that reason. You didn't ask him, so I will not tell you why."

"I was not satisfied with the admiral's answer as to whether he believes officers should have personal relationships with other officers in the same chain of command," Carson said.

"That was not the question you asked," Deanna said. "You asked him if he agreed that officers desiring to be in command of a starship should not have intimate relationships with subordinates. His answer will always be the same as Starfleet's -- we do not interfere in the personal lives of officers, unless the personal interferes with the professional. And your attempt to put him off balance by asking a question you thought would fluster him was noted, by the way. You wasted a question on that. Our oldest child is sixteen this year, Cadet, and if you imagine that there is any question about our relationship that has not been asked already, you would be wrong."

Neal Carson shrugged uncomfortably and his eyes darted around, not meeting hers. He sat up straight and squared his shoulders, then looked directly at her. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Deanna let her eyes linger on each of them in turn; they had all straightened up a little. "You are taking the ethics of command concurrently with this class, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused. Carson and Balderama exchanged a look that made her wonder.

"I believe I will take this opportunity to answer your question, Mr. Balderama -- the question that no one has asked yet," she said. "What aspect of a personal, intimate relationship with another officer in the same chain of command becomes the most difficult to manage? Would anyone like to hazard a guess?"

They all sat stiffly looking at her -- she almost smiled. 

"The opinions of other people about the relationship," she said, putting a little ire in the words to punctuate. "We have done our part, in understanding our own motives for our actions in any situation on duty. We cannot control what other officers feel or think about us -- at times the opinions of superiors have interfered in a mission. We can be professional. We cannot guarantee the professionalism of others."

"This is unclear," Fenson blurted. "What do other opinions matter?"

"If opinions lead to accusations without basis, time and energy is wasted," Deanna said. "Starfleet does not regulate personal relationships. Starfleet does investigate reports of inappropriate behavior while on duty -- tell me please, what is inappropriate behavior while on duty?"

"Failing to follow orders, failing to report dangerous circumstances or behavior of other officers," Dunstan quoted, straight from regulations. 

Balderama added, "Being off your post, not attending to your duties for the shift, allowing yourself to become distracted or engaging in recreational activities or chitchat -- engaging in anything other than your assigned tasks. While there is some amount of leeway given when the vessel is on standby or en route to an assignment generally on duty activities should be either related to assigned post or station, or such that the officer may be rapidly deployed to his or her post."

"If you know that two people assigned to bridge duty at the same time are married, does any of this change?"

"No, sir," McCormick replied crisply.

"If you know that the captain and the first officer are married, and they are in the habit of retiring to the ready room to discuss the mission, does any of this change?"

"No," Balderama said. "But if they are in there for hours -- if they are engaging in activities not related to duty wouldn't it show? Wouldn't there be indicators of dereliction of duty? Failure to adequately plan a mission, some sign that they were unprepared?"

Deanna nodded, but wasn't done with them yet. "And if there are no signs at all? But you are of the opinion that such relationships are inappropriate. With humans there is a phenomenon -- confirmation bias. This is an observed behavior. At what point do we confront the supposed perpetrators of their misbehavior?"

"This is all we're talking about in ethics," McCormick said, waving a hand as if weary of the subject. She turned to Dunstan. "Captain Troi is right. We wasted our time here on material from another class. We should have asked the admiral different questions."

"I recommend that you think about the admiral's professional career and reformulate your questions. I will ask him again if he will join us, as I have it on good authority that he has a fairly open schedule, and he will likely forgive you and be willing to answer them. Since I am evaluating you on your own merits from a professional standpoint and not judging you by how curious you are about my private life," Deanna said with a smirk. 

Balderama rolled his eyes dramatically -- confirming her guess. Dunstan actually blushed a little. Fensen glared at her classmates.

"We will meet at the same time in three days. I will send instructions on whether it will be remote or in a classroom on campus. Dismissed."

Deanna stood up, and the holograms of the students vanished. "Computer, disconnect from the classroom holodeck."

When she sat down again the program resumed, and Jean-Luc sat in his spot again. The students and their chairs were absent. He was still shaking his head.

"You heard it all?"

"I did. They aren't wrong, I have very obvious bias."

"But they are missing the part where bias does not have to rule the decision-making process," she said.

"I'm sure you will get them there if anyone can."

"I miss you," she said warmly.

He smiled at her, with the affection he wouldn't show when the students were around. "It's been difficult for me as well."

"I'll see you in a few days, my sweet fish."


	5. Chapter 5

The _Aventuras_ was dead in space, drifting aimlessly, and riddled with hull breaches, but sensors found two hundred forty-two life signs. Deanna ordered the transporters into action. Evacuations were part of the new job. She listened to the crew coordinating the evacuation of the ship.

About half an hour into the process, Captain Kenerran arrived on the bridge. Deanna stood to greet him. Kenerran was human, and younger than she -- he shook hands and smiled as she greeted him. "It's good to meet you in person," he said, then gestured at the ready room door. "Captain, may I have a word?"

"Certainly. Mr. Sedgewick, you have the bridge."

She led her guest into her ready room and stopped at the replicator alcove. "Computer, hot chamomile tea. Would you care for anything?"

"Coffee, sweet and black."

 She sat behind her desk and smiled at him, as he sipped the coffee and nodded approval before putting the cup on the edge of her desk. "You confronted the Asili?"

"A funny thing, that," Cortez Kenerran said, waving his finger as if scolding her. "Your reports left out some of it. That smell!"

"I have always been taught that official reports are to the point, essential information -- you can survive the smell." She sat back in her chair, smirking.

"True, but you wish you were dead when the first wave of it hits you." He took a long drink of coffee, savoring it. The replicators on his ship had obviously been offline for a while. "The rest -- I wish I could say it was exaggeration. We didn't expect to ever confront them. Thought we were too far from the action."

"They're braver than they were before, making forays deeper into Federation space. I suspect this is partly because the K'korll are gone."

Kenerran paused in raising his coffee to his mouth again. "What?"

"There's been no intelligence that I have heard to support it, but I wonder if there were checks and balances in play that we never understood, and now that the K'korll are gone, the Asili and those who use them are free to move farther out of the Beta Quadrant."

Kenerran laughed curtly. "Great god complex you're developing, hon. Some wiser older captain told me once, you can step on a bug and kill a civilization but it will still fail to be your fault. You're not destroying the universe because you defended the Federation, Captain."

Deanna closed her eyes. It was frustrating at times to be Betazoid and surrounded by humans. "Why does a statement of fact have to sound like an admission of guilt to you?"

"Okay," he replied, uncertain. "I was given to understand you were singularly responsible for dealing with the K'korll?"

"I have no regrets on that count. The K'korll put entire civilizations under their spell for centuries. The galaxy is better without them. Acknowledging the cause and effect at play doesn't mean I feel responsible for it. It would be useful, however, to understand the interplay between the Beta Quadrant species so that we could begin attempts at diplomacy."

Kenerran thought about that for a moment, but said nothing more on the subject. "You've had the _Hermes_ for how long?"

"Three months."

"And you were first officer for fifteen years, under Picard. His counselor for a decade before that." Kenerran leaned forward and looked her in the eye. "Are you tired yet?"

Deanna wondered what the man was really doing -- she could tell he was curious, but sensed more to it than that. No matter, she reasoned. "No," she lied, raising her head and matching his lazy-eyed gaze. It took a few moments to set aside the anger. People bringing up her past association with Captain Picard was getting very, very old.

"How is he? I heard the admiral retired." Kenerran picked up his cup again and drank coffee in a pretense of ease.

Deanna collected herself mentally while drinking a long slow draw on her tea. "He's well. Making wine and enjoying the French countryside."

"I hear he might be joining the Diplomatic Corps."

When she raised her eyes again, she pushed mentally as they met his. She withdrew at once, hoping he had not noticed the telepathic incursion. She touched the panel on her desk, brushing her finger across the one control that would summon security. "You should go to sickbay."

"Why? I wasn't injured -- there are plenty of my crew who are," he said, frowning.

The door opened and deLio approached, came to attention at the end of the desk, and she nodded toward Kenerran. "Escort him to sickbay."

"All right," the captain exclaimed, slapping the arms of the chair then rising to his feet. "I guess I'll go to sickbay."

Deanna watched them leave the ready room. She turned to look out at the stars; from this angle the other vessel was not visible. After a few moments of silent contemplation, her brown study was interrupted by the quiet double tone of the computer announcing that someone wanted to speak to her.

"Troi here."

"Captain, you have an incoming transmission from your husband."

Deanna smiled at Lieutenant Galvan's mention of Jean-Luc's current rank. "Put him through, thank you."

"I have a present for you," Jean-Luc said exuberantly across the parsecs of space between them.

Deanna laughed, letting her head tip back and rest on the chair. "Oh, tell me, please, you have created a life sized statue of you made of chocolate."

"No, I fear that the gift is not so unique. Are you all right?"

"Yes. We're evacuating the crew of the _Aventuras_ as we speak. I sent the captain to sickbay to confirm that he has been tampered with by the Sisnok. The usual pattern -- they leave most of the crew and choose a few key people to compromise. I have to send engineers to crawl all over the carcass of the ship to see what's there, download the contents of the computer core into protected storage, and then destroy it before we come home."

"Then we might see you for breakfast?"

Deanna closed her eyes and imagined him standing in the grapes, wiping his brow on his forearm while working on staking a vine. "I hope so."

"I thought I felt -- " He sometimes didn't have the words for what he sensed from her.

"I'm sorry. But it's fine, it was just a passing thing. So tired of officers being compromised this way." He didn't have to know what she was really angry about; it would make him angry as well. "I was angry for a bit."

"Strongest telepath in the universe," he said. "I wish I'd come with you."

"I know," she murmured, leaning forward, holding her forehead in her palms, elbows on the desk. "But I also don't want you here."

"Tom and Beverly invited us to Oregon for the weekend. I told them we had other plans."

She smiled ruefully. "Do we?"

"I do remember talking to a man about a babysitter."

"You are made of chocolate, you sweet man." Deanna sighed and wished there might be a way to work through the current situation within a week, instead of the current strategy of always arriving after the Sisnok had taken another victim.

"I am about to be mobbed. The kids are coming in the house."

"You should go. Tell them I will be home soon." It was too hard to hear the voices of her children. Hard enough to miss him.

"Be safe," he said softly. The computer chirped as the channel was cut.

"Safe," she said with a sigh, rising to head back to the bridge. Such a relative term.

Sedgewick moved out of her chair into his. "The survey team is using shuttles to examine the _Aventuras_ closely," he reported. "And the crew has been evacuated, medical staff is examining each crew member. Dr. Mengis is doing a thorough exam on Captain Kenerran. You all right?"

Some of the frustration must be showing in her face. She smiled at her first officer. "I'm fine. Let's send some long range probes."

Sedgewick didn't even ask if she sensed something -- he ordered the probes, and when the data came back ordered a red alert.

"Target the _Aventuras_ with two photon torpedoes. Recall the shuttles. Mr. Monroe, plot a course for Earth -- first transwarp jump after the last shuttle docks," Deanna said calmly. The Asili were far enough away that they had time.

The _Hermes_ was gone before the Asili even knew they were there. The next transwarp jump would take an hour, to get them to Deep Space Nine. Then it would be half a day home.

Too long, with an ache in her chest.


End file.
